Clockwork Doll
by PotatoJerk
Summary: The story of a doll made of wood and metal gears and powered by a wound up spring. Doll!England
1. Death

In a place of ever lasting darkness, a freezing cold place, there is a little light, moving slowly throughout the abandoned town...

Making the sound of a creaking gear and a wheel.

The sound echoed as the light moved, making a soft sound as it shuffled through the snow...

It was me; I have nowhere to stay, all by myself... and I can't walk so well, even though I have to get to that place.

Broken clockwork, operated by a wound up spring that never comes unwound... I can't even move without that clacking noise.

Why was I even born? I don't know... I just want to sleep... to end this horrid life of mine. I want to go to that place that my master, that person, went to.

I stare at a broken window at the reflection of a little blond haired person and see inside my broken chest... Why is my heart the colour of silver when my skin is that milky paleness that contrasted so nicely with that of my master, that person's...? I closed my deep green eyes and continued to walk with the clacking sound of wood against wood and the soft crunch of snow underfoot.

In distant times, my master, that person spoke to me...

"_You are a special doll"_

I would dance and sing for him as he praised me, his sky blue eyes reflecting my flawless face and his smile dazzling.

Even now, after I have lost my voice and my clockwork drags my body onward, I try to sing so that I will remember him.

Though, my master, that person will never awake- never open his captivating eyes and sing also.

Why was I even born? The answer escapes me... it's like I have no purpose, and yet I search for one anyway.

I try to keep singing even though my voice has failed me, wanting to cry like my master, that person, used to.

Someday, I'll sleep...

...and go to the wonderful place where my master, that person, is.

But, alas, my dream does not come true...

...I am broken further when I try to force myself into that peaceful motionless sleep and yet the clockwork never stops tick- tick- ticking.

Time passes quickly...

...and I start to forget the songs my master, that person, taught me. I want so badly to remember but my cracked lips and shattered throat would never let me sing them, even if I could remember.

I hurry to the place where that person sleeps and I crawl towards it, dragging my broken and abused body behind me, unable to feel anything... why does my heart hurt so much when I'm not human like my master, that person, was...?

While the clockwork continues to whirr inside of my broken chest, I fall down many times because my body no longer works as it should.

The place where you can see the ocean is covered with flowers, beautiful reds, whites, and pale pale blues...

...roses like my master, that person, used to like.

I pick some of them, my face just as blank as it had been for those long years since my master died, the thorns of the roses not harming my wooden hands, and I go to sleep, finally closing my eyes...

...together with my master, that person, I lay in that place.

My wish came true...

...I could feel it in my heart.

"_It was enough that you lived alone"_

I heard that person's voice in my ears, the sound of my master close by.

In my dreams, I had heard the voice so many times...

...it resounds with kindness within my hollow silver coloured heart, making me feel like my master, that person, had never died.

A peaceful light, so different from my own, a deep warmness that I'd never felt before...

...it surrounds me and makes me feel safe...

And I smile...

...just a little, but still...

…I smile.

* * *

><p>We went to that place today, my father and I... the place that my mother told me about. The place where her brother was buried. I walked up to the gravestone and found something unusual... a little clockwork doll. I looked at the gravestone and turned to my father.<p>

'...father... why is my name on this gravestone...?' I asked, confused.

He just looked at me for a moment, then said, 'that's your uncle's name also, Alfred...'

I picked up the little doll and held it in my arms like a baby... it was broken so badly. 'Father, can we fix it...?'

'...of course, Alfred...' he smiled at me. '...I think that your uncle would like that very much...'

I stroked the faded blond hair of the doll, smiling, '...I think so, too...'


	2. Birth

''Only- you-and-I, in- this- room~'' I sing, smiling softly.

That person, the dollmaker, smiles at me, ''Very good, very good,'' he says, patting my head.

He walks out of the room, going off to do what ever he does in the world outside of our little room. I know nothing of the outside world... but I'm fine with that if it makes him happy; if that is what my creator wishes, I will not argue.

When he comes back, he brings with him a new outfit for me and I smile prettily even though I know that he'll leave me.

''Artur...?'' he asks, laughing at my naivete. I tilt my head to the side in confusion.

''Yes, sir?" I respond, smiling.

He pets my hair lightly, ''Call me Papa, oui?'' he smiles back, ''et I will call you Mon Fils.''

I nod slightly, confused by the other language that he likes to speak sometimes; he has a nice voice and pretty eyes that comment his hair so beautifully... I'm glad when he wants to visit me.

He carries me around the room on his back, because I have no clockwork in my legs; he says that I'll run away if he puts clockwork in my legs, too... why would I run away from my 'Papa'...?

He gives me such lovely presents... such as a rose encased in resin so that it will never wilt; the room is so filled with beautiful things that I am covered with them ever when I'm sleeping.

He leaves to do something, making excuses about it being urgent... it hurts my heart when he says that.

When he comes back, he gives me a little box with more things inside... a glass stained red by something, it's achingly beautiful but it scares me somehow... a blue spoon that I've seen 'Papa' eating with before, it's delicate and looks like I could break it with just my fingers... and a pair of mirrors with yellow framework, they look expensive but one is shattered like spun sugar... I hold them in my hands and examine them more while Papa is gone.

Only Papa and I in this room... no one else is needed here; he's all I need to be happy. I don't need to know anything about the outside to be happy, as long as that's what he wants... as long as he is here.

This room and all that I can see from the window, is the whole world, for me...

...and yet, I can't help but think... although, he is always so kind... he never teaches me about the outside world.

The things in this room...

...they keep laughing at me...

...I'm going crazy; I can hear them say...

''We are the same, you are just like us!'' the laugh mockingly at me.

''Lu- li- la- lu- li- la~'' I sing like such things are not heard in the outside world.

I sing for only my creator, because that is what I wish...

When I see him next, he says a word that I've never heard before... 'War'...

...I don't understand what that word means...

...I can't comprehend it's meaning.

Papa says that war is bad... and that I should stay in the house, no matter what...

...but, it's not like I could leave if I wanted to...

...my legs have no clockwork.

I wake up and there is smoke, surrounding me. His arms wrap around me and I feel safe, even with flames all around.

A question tugs at the back of my mind...

''Why is the room burning?'' I ask, trying to get him to let me go.

He doesn't answer... just picks me up and starts carrying me out.

Everything faded because of the smoke... I couldn't see or hear.

When I awaken... there is nothing.

Papa is gone...

...the room is gone...

...the window that I could once see my whole world through is gone...

...it's all gone.

* * *

><p>'Alfred, I found a doll!' Madeline calls to her brother.<p>

Her brother walks over, smiling sadly. 'We can fix it, right, sis?' he asks hopefully.

'Ivan can fix it for us.'


	3. Life part 1 Alfred

I carry the doll carefully, almost afraid that I'll drop it and break it even more. _Almost._ But heroes don't break things. Well, I mean they break stuff when they need to in order to do something heroic, not accidentally. But that's not the major issue.

The point is that for some reason, I feel kind of attached to the little doll. It looks sad, all busted up like this. Which is why I want Braginski to fix it for me. I'd fix it myself, but I don't know how, as lame as that sounds.

So I'm taking it to Braginski's now, to ask for his help. I feel a little un-heroic by asking him to help me. Maddie says even heroes need help sometimes, and I really do feel bad for this doll, so I'm just gonna ignore my own opinions for now.

Instead I try to concentrate on not dropping the poor thing. I gently brush the doll's blond hair out of its small face. Its eyebrows are seriously huge, and in a weird way it looks good. The doll has a nice face, even though it's broken. "It must've had some jerk for its original owner, leaving it all busted up on the ground like trash." That kinda pisses me off, so I stop thinking about that.

Y'know, I think Maddie told me a story where a ghost possessed a doll and used it to murder people and left their bloody remains where it killed them as a warning… that's totally creepy… maybe that's why the doll got all busted up and stuff. I shiver, but I don't let go of the doll. 'Cuz, hey, if the doll got all broken, the ghost wouldn't have anything to control, so it would've gone away and found a new home, right?

…Right?

"I'm going to stop thinking about that now," I say under my breath, starting to freak out.

I've almost reached Braginski's place, it's just up that kinda big hill. I walk faster, not running because of the doll. And I'm yelling, too. "Braginski, I need your help! Hey! Braginski!"

By the time I reach the top, he's already at the door, having heard me calling out to him as I climbed the hill.

"Hey, Braginski, I need your help with something."

"Da," he replies blandly, "you said that already. What is this problem that you need my help with?"

I hold out the doll to him slowly, "can you fix this for me?"

He carefully takes the doll from me and examines it, seeing where it's broken and how it was built. After a few minutes he nods. "Da. I can fix it. It may take a bit, but I can fix this. You come back later to get it back, da?"

I fidget a little. I don't really want to part with the doll, even though I know that Braginski will fix it faster than most people can. I don't really know how to explain.

"… Da, I see, you do not want to leave without it." Wow, it's like he's reading my mind. "You may stay in my house while I fix this. It won't take too long."

"Thanks, man!" I exclaim happily. He smiles in reply, not one of his creepy smiles but an actually nice smile. "Don't think I'll start to consider you my future brother-in-law, though." I say quickly.

"I assumed that would be the case," he nods, still smiling.


	4. Life part 2 The Doll

I open my eyes and see bright blue orbs staring back at mine, filling my vision and making me incredibly confused.

Where is papa? What happened to the house? I feel so confused.

"Hey, Maddie! Ivan did it! The doll is working again!" The voice is too loud, I half hiss in distaste.

I realize that I'm looking at a boy, about papa's height only a bit taller, with golden blond hair and cerulean eyes; the boy looks tired, though, or maybe sick.

Suddenly, I'm lifted into the air by a rough pair of hands and I find myself staring into a pair of regalia eyes.

"Are you able to speak?" A harsh voice asks, accented by a language that I can't identify. "Or rather…" I'm lowered somewhat and notice the round childlike face of another man, who (judging by how high off of the ground I am) must be much taller than papa, "Do you remember how to speak?"

I hesitate and don't speak, silently terrified of the man.

"I know that you have the capability to speak; I saw it as I was fixing the burns on your neck. Do you remember how to speak?" He repeats his question.

I nod tentatively, still more than a little bit scared of him.

"Who made you? I've never seen a doll like you. You are too small to be an automaton, and yet you can speak like one," the man seems curious, which calms me a bit.

I hesitate again, this time trying to remember what Papa's name actually was.

"Do you not remember?" the man asks, raising an eyebrow.

"That person, my papa, is the dollmaker," I respond, unable to remember what Papa's name was.

"Your 'papa', the dollmaker… wait…" the man puts me on a table high enough to where my feet dangle off of the side, and he walks out of the room.

I look around and find that I'm in a workshop of some kind; the walls are barren except for a few pictures of three children together (two girls and a boy), standing in front of a man and a woman. There are parts for dolls strewn all over the room, ball joints and limbs laid out on tables, collecting dust. There are also some of the tools that papa used to fix me if I was broken (but they don't look the same).

The man comes back with a portfolio, reading the contents. "Francis Marlon-Bonnefoy. He died in his home during a fire because of a civil war. He is also known as 'the dollmaker'."


End file.
